


In the Mood For Red

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [146]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Boss/Employee Relationship, M/M, Office Sex, Panties, Role Reversal, Roleplay, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 07:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16036106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Six o’clock crawled towards him on its hands and knees. Absolutely freakingcrawled.





	In the Mood For Red

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Reversal of role or fortune (loss of love, power, rank, etc; hunter becomes prey etc). Prompt from this [generator](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/prompts).

They waited until the office was empty, until there wasn’t a soul on the executive floor except them.

It wasn’t easy, waiting, knowing what was to come. For Tony, the whole afternoon had been a bit of a bust concentration-wise; he’d finished his two o’clock and spend the remaining hours virtually twiddling his thumbs, staring at things he was supposed to be approving--memos, emails, designs of prototypes--but not seeing, much less comprehending, a damn thing. His heart rate was high and his collar, the back of his shirt, grew damp and stayed there, leaving him shivering in the afternoon sunshine. He checked his watch constantly, even though the play of the day through the three walls of windows were even better harbingers of the time than his Rolex.

Six o’clock crawled towards him on its hands and knees. Absolutely freaking _crawled_.

Normally, there was no set time for the office to close; his execs came in when they wanted, left when they wanted to, worked from home or the jet or from onsite at one of Stark Hotels international properties, whatever. Tony didn’t care. He himself had to fight some days to stay in that 9 to 5 rhythm that Bucky had convinced him was really much more becoming of a CEO than rolling in at noon and leaving once the markets opened in Tokyo; sometimes bonkers hours were necessary, but most of the time, they weren’t, and it mattered that his execs saw that, saw that even Tony Stark hadn’t sold himself fully to unending work.

Balance was a buzzword these days, sure, but it was also, Tony had discovered, A+ for his productivity. If he sat at his desk, it was for a reason; if he was in the office, it was because he had specific tasks to accomplish, not just Things To Do. If the last year with Bucky had taught him anything, it was that his worth as a human didn’t rest solely on his bank account or what happened inside his office walls: he had plenty of money, plenty of smarts, and if he wanted to stay engaged and effective in his life, in his business, he couldn’t place all of his self-worth in the Stark Hotels basket. He had to make some time for himself.

Hence their plans for the evening. Hence the need to hurry up and wait.

At ten minutes to six, the noise outside of his office spiked as execs started to stream out of their offices, grumbling happily about having to leave. A few stuck their head in Tony’s office and chided him, reminded him that they all had to get out.

“Please tell me you’re not gonna sit here and suck up exterminator fumes,” Rhodey said, jostling good-naturedly with his coat. "You're not actually a cockroach, Tony. No matter what those douchebags at Marriott say."

“Me?” Tony said. “Hell no. Just finishing up one last thing and then I’m out.”

“You wanna join us at _Raddichio_ for a few? Romanov’s buying.”

Tony pretended to think about it. “Tempting, but no. No thanks. Think I’m just gonna head home. But make Nat buy a couple for me, ok? Just on principle.”

After Rhodey left, the floor fell silent. So quiet that Tony could hear the blood in his head, the pound of his feverish heart. It froze him to his chair, too, all that silence. That exquisite anticipation.

Oh, hell, he thought. Was he really going to do this? Were they?

He squirmed a little in his chair, the catch of lace over his skin, over the soft swell of his balls, suddenly and wonderfully too much, and he was torn between a deep sense of humiliation and a rip of arousal that felt like a snare.

Maybe this was too much. Maybe he should never have suggested it. Maybe he should’ve--

“Hey, boss,” Bucky said from the doorway, his face caught by the evening’s long shadow. “The coast is clear.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. Elevators are parked up here, too.”

Tony nodded. “Ok, yeah. Sure. That’s good.”

Bucky stepped inside Tony’s office, leaving the door opened up wide, and eased into the warm glow of the lamps. Gone was the button-down and slacks he’d been wearing all day parked outside Tony’s door; in its place, a sleek suit the same color as the night sky. His chin-length hair was slicked-back and his usual laconic smile had vanished, replaced by something more calculating, something harder, more self-assured.

“Uh huh,” Bucky said. “And you know what that means, right?”

“What?”

A grin the size of Staten Island. “You’re sitting at my desk, Mr. Stark.”

“I’m--? Oh!” Tony stood up so fast he banged his knee, so fast he sent his chair flying back, so fast the heat in his face made a mad dash down his body. “God, I’m so sorry, um, sir.”

“I’m sure you have a good reason.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I was”--oh, god, come on, brain. Come up with something--“I left a letter for you to sign and I couldn’t find it.”

Bucky eased around the desk slowly, like he had all the time in the world. “The letter for the Posner account?”

Tony swallowed. “Y-yes. Yes.”

“I signed that this morning and left it on your desk.”

“You did?”

That got him an eyebrow. “Are you questioning my word?”

Good christ, Bucky was good at this. And he was right beside Tony, close, looking beautiful and serious and smelling, god help him, of Tony’s own cologne. When the hell had he filched that?

“No. No, sir,” Tony stammered. “I just--it isn’t there.”

“Hmmm. So you thought you’d come rifle through my things, is that it?”

“I wasn’t--I wouldn’t--”

Tony knew he should back up, stage some sort of retreat; that’s what an assistant would really do if confronted--cornered, really--by their boss like this. But he couldn’t bring himself to budge, to get one inch farther away from Bucky than he had to be. Not when he was staring at Tony so hard his blue eyes were flushed dark, the smirk on his face reminiscent of a tiger who was very amused by his prey.

“Oh, you were,” Bucky said. “And you would.” He tipped his fingers beneath Tony’s chin. “What have I told you about trying to spy on me, dear?”

Tony’s eyes fluttered. “That I shouldn’t.”

“That you shouldn’t.” Bucky’s thumb found his jaw. “That’s right. What else?”

They should’ve come with a script, put some words down on paper, something, because it was so hard to come up with stuff in the moment, to come up with anything coherent when Bucky was touching him like that, when his own head was lost so far in the game.

Note to self, he thought, flailing: it’s next to impossible to improvise with a stiff dick.

“That there’d be consequences if I did.”

Bucky hummed. “That’s right. See, you can remember the rules when you want to.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes.”

“Are you? You don’t look sorry.”

“I--”

“And you don’t feel sorry, either. Oh no. You do not.” Bucky’s hand was a feather, a soft, slow stroke. “It feels like you enjoy doing what I’ve told you not to, hmm?”

Tony bit his lip, fought the urge to roll his hips. “No, sir.”

“No, sir,” Bucky echoed softly. “Uh huh. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not!”

“You are,” Bucky said. His grip tightened. “And I don’t like it.”

“Please, I wasn’t--Tony let out an unwitting whine--“I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Ok, this was easier to play, desperation. His eyes even came through with a few tears. “Please don’t fire me. I won’t do it again. I need this job, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky made a considering sound. “Do you?”

“I do, I do! I--”

Then Bucky wasn’t touching him anymore, Bucky was lounging back in Tony’s chair like he belonged there--thighs spread and shoulders loose, his head kissing the back.

“All right,” Bucky said. “If you need it so bad, then unzip your pants.”

Tony didn’t have to fake the way his knees locked, the way he had to grab at the edge of the desk. Ok, this was officially going a thousand times better than he’d imagined. “What?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You heard me.”

“You--you can’t ask me to do that!”

“I just did. And if you want to keep this job so much, Tony, then for once, you’ll do as I ask.”

“But Mr. Barnes, I--the door’s open! And there are all of these lights. Anybody could walk in and see.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?”

Tony looked away, looked at the floor, looked at the big city outside alive in the night, his whole body alight with how good this was, how badly he wanted it, how lucky he was to have a partner who was so ready to shed the everyday and say fuck it and play.

“Please, Mr. Barnes,” Tony whispered. “Please don’t make me do this.”

Bucky spread his hands. “I’m not making you do anything, my dear. It’s your choice.”

Slowly, slowly, Tony lifted his fingers, crawled them in towards his crotch, and when he popped the button and eased down his fly, he had to fight real hard not to smile. He hadn’t exactly told Bucky about this part, but then, it’d been a whim this morning anyway when he’d stepped out of the shower and stood in front of his closet, staring at the neat rows of black boxer briefs, the navy and gray.

 _Red_ , he’d thought. I’m in the damn mood for red.

Red and lacy, red and tight, red and stretched to the limit, there in the glare of Bucky’s gaze.

“Oh,” Bucky said, low and hot. “Oh, my, Tony. What have we here?” He slid closer, close enough to rest his hands on Tony’s hips, to stare up at him with a kind of furious ardor. “You’ve been keeping secrets from me, haven’t you?”

Tony felt himself twitch, felt a blurt of wet on his stomach. “Mr. Barnes--”

Bucky’s fingertips teased the scalloped edges, rubbed around under the waistband of Tony’s trousers. “I was going to let you go with a warning, but oh no; I need to see more of this.”

Tony whimpered. No acting required.

Those blue eyes swept up and caught his, held him like a vise. “Touch yourself,” Bucky murmured, his breath a bellows. “Just like this, through your panties. Where I can see.”


End file.
